Post-It Notes & Frosting
by silversundown
Summary: Daryl gets the common cold virus after arriving in Alexandria and recovers at Carol's house. Contains copious amounts of frosting and shirtless Daryl and sparse amounts of sticky notes.


Disclaimer: I don't own them!

He was sick. Not even three days after arriving in Alexandria Carol had heard the tell tale signs of sniffling and sneezing coming from the porch. It made sense. They'd been on the road for who knows how long, eating far less than healthy when they ate at all and the weather was changing. It was only a matter of time before one or all of them came down with something, she just didn't expect it to be Daryl.

Maybe it was his gruff personality or the layer of grime an inch thick but he seemed like the type who wouldn't tolerate a simple cold. As if that were even possible. To simply refuse to get sick. Apparently the common cold virus had no apprehension about penetrating the dirt and crawling right up next to his unsuspecting white cells.

She'd forced him up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms then, despite his protests, saying he was no use to them sick and unrested. A low blow but the only way to get him to comply. He was stubborn even in his sick induced haze.

Once she'd gotten him to plant himself on the bed it was surprisingly easy to keep him there. He had accepted defeat and been holed up in that room for the last two days. She headed up the stairs, bottle of water and handful of Tylenol ready to bestow upon her patient. He was an easy keeper, never asking her for anything and in some ways that was more frustrating than a relief.

She paused at the doorway, surveying the scene in front of her. Several rolls of toilet paper on the side table, a plastic grocery bag full of used tissues, a tube of chapstick that he had reluctantly cracked open and then couldn't stop using and the man in question laying sprawled out on the bed looking dead to the world.

A light sheen had broken out across his skin, his shirt was unbuttoned, hair was sticking to his forehead and he was breathing with a wheeze. On most days she would admit that seeing Daryl sweaty and almost shirtless was not an unwelcome sight but there wasn't a lot sexy about any man sick enough that he looked contaminated with the plague.

She proceeded slowly, trying not to wake him as she grabbed the used water bottle and replaced it with a fresh one. They were lucky this had happened here and not while they were on the run through the woods.

The woods.

She sucked in a breath when she thought back to earlier that morning, overhearing Rick and Michonne in the kitchen rummaging around for who knows what. Rick saying that Daryl should hide the knives while he was out of commission.

As if she would ever hurt him.

Daryl could come down with the actual plague and threaten to sneeze on every person in Alexandria one by one and she wouldn't even consider it.

Michonne had scolded him, shocked at his bad taste. Carol had hoped that Rick would've kept what he knew private. Realized too late that she was wrong to assume. She'd backed up the stairs then and closed herself into the bathroom for an undermined amount of time before facing them later like nothing had happened.

She wouldn't hold this against Rick, deserved more than an off color and badly timed sarcastic remark for all her sins.

A rough, scratchy voice startled her back to the present. "Don't wan ya getting whatever this is, don't come too close."

He had rolled over to face her now and was coughing into a piece of toilet paper, hacking up a lung or two.

She hadn't been as quiet as she'd hoped. "With all the viruses Sofia used to bring home I'm pretty much Teflon at this point." She paused, giving him a half smile. "Besides, I'm sure I've already got your germs. How is it today?"

He scowled, which would have been more effective had it not been broken by a sneeze. "Can't breath, throat is worse than before, if I could sell snot I'd be the richest man alive."

She wrinkled her nose. He had such a lovely way of putting things sometimes. "In this economy that's not a difficult title. "

She tilted her head at him. Now was the time to bring out the big guns. He had been receptive to her fussing the past few days but she hadn't wanted to push the issue until she was relatively certain she would be successful. But now, seeing him in such a miserable state she was sure he would jump at whatever remedy she offered him.

"You should take a hot shower. Let the steam break up the congestion. Stay in there long as you can."

Carol offered the advice nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal and turned to leave. "I put some towels out for you…"

He didn't reply and she didn't wait for one, just bounced down the stairs and waited. Several minutes later she heard the sound of the shower and rejoiced in her success. What she had achieved just now was basically a super power.

Pleased with the turn of events she started working on the casserole for dinner, intent on feeding his cold and whoever else wandered in.

He had been in there a long time now, twenty minutes at least, maybe thirty. He would have found the strategically placed shampoo bottle she sat on the toilet lid for him, complete with a post-it note stuck to it's label that commanded "USE ME" in bold letters and "TWICE" with several underlines.

She had forgone the notes on the conditioner or body wash, hoping he would get the hint on his own. Getting him in the shower was ninety percent of the battle but she had a feeling that once that was accomplished he was more than capable and willing to do the rest without prompting.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sight of a nearly naked, towel clad, soaking wet Daryl Dixon looking at her shyly from between the clean strands of hair that bracketed his eyes.

"I ah…can't find my clothes."

She had taken them for washing, failing to remember he didn't have an extensive wardrobe and the few other pieces he did own had also been washed, now sitting atop the dryer in a heap. She would wash his things while he was sick but she sure as hell wasn't folding his clothes and serving them up in a neat stack. This was all beside the point though because at the current moment she was simply transfixed by the sight in front of her.

In most situations she was an expert at ignoring any hint of attraction to him. Even when it filtered through her carefully erected walls she could choose to shut it down and fast. That road lead to nowhere good. He was her friend, her most valued and trusted partner. To potentially ruin that with anything else was a test she wasn't ready to take yet. But today, with him standing only a few feet away from her, water droplets cascading down his body, the scent of apples wafting up from his skin…it was like this moment had been designed specifically to cripple her resolve.

She must have taken too long to respond, standing there staring at him with that look on her face because he was looking back at her now like he knew. Like he could read every last dirty thought that ran through her mind and he wasn't objecting to any of it in the least.

They locked eyes for the span of a heartbeat, the tension in the air thick before he broke and looked away. The moment had passed and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks, pointed to the laundry room and went back to her casserole.

The following day and the one after that she had heard the distinct sounds of the shower flowing freely every afternoon. Her powers of persuasion were apparently not lost on him, one suggestion and he was showering like someone who didn't have an aversion to water. Carol wondered what else she could get him to do when his brain was scrambled from sneezing fifty two times in a row.

His cold was slowly loosing its hold on it's host, save for a lingering headache he mentioned off handedly that morning. Not one to complain she figured it must have been bad for him to bring it up at all and grabbed a post-it note and a bottle of Tylenol, wrote the words "TAKE ME" in big letters and stuck it to the front of the bottle that she landed right on his nightstand.

Maybe that was the secret. Put post-it notes on everything she wanted him to do.

There was an idea.

She shook her head, scolded herself for yet again failing to keep those thoughts safely tucked away in that box at the back of her brain with its very own warning label.

She was failing all around lately when it came to that. Their moment in the kitchen had sparked something she couldn't shove away as easily as she'd hoped. These creature comforts they had now didn't help. Back when they were running for their lives every day, struggling to survive and not changing their clothes for weeks, looking at anyone that way was item seven hundred on the to-do list. There were simply more important things to worry about.

But now, in the relative safety of this community it was as if everyone, herself included, had suddenly remembered they had other needs too.

Carol had noticed it among the others, here and there, little things they would say or do that would't have ever happened on the outside.

She wondered if Daryl felt it too. Hoped he did. Hoped he didn't.

They had shared a few looks since that day in the kitchen, exchanged a few comments that felt suspiciously like flirting, if flirting were an entirely new and unpracticed thing, but that had been the extent of it. They were towing the line. Both of them too afraid to cross it just yet. What a ridiculous way to behave for two people who could be dead tomorrow, she thought. Apparently the heart didn't care that it was Armageddon. It still feared getting crushed as if it were any other day in the pre-apocalyptic world.

By day seven he was almost completely recovered. No longer taking up residence in the bedroom 24 hours per day but making no effort at removing his things from it either. He would sleep there at night now. Habit had set in and perhaps his back had gotten used to the comfortable support of a real mattress.

It occurred to her then that they were living together. Which in itself wasn't a big deal since they had all been living together for a long time now, but that had been different. That had been a group of people struggling to survive on the outside and banding together like a pack of meerkats. Never sleeping or eating or peeing without one of them on a lookout for impending danger.

This was not like that. This was the two of them living together in some sort of parody of domesticity. That thought only made stronger by the fact that she was currently making him and herself some sort of chocolate thing for dessert tonight.

Why was she doing this? Because she could? Because they HAD chocolate now so why not do the logical thing and eat it? Because the idea of dessert was something they just as easily could have never entertained again? That had to be it, she reasoned. He wouldn't question his good fortune when he walked in on a tray of cupcakes or cookies or brownies or whatever it was this frosting she was whipping up was destined for. He would just grab a handful and down them like he'd not eaten anything in the past week.

It made perfect sense that she was making dessert right now and she refused to read anything into it, she thought, as she whisked the frosting just a little harder than it deserved. Paused a moment to reach a finger inside the bowl and scoop up a small amount to lick off as she had done nearly half a dozen times already in the past few minutes.

"Whatcha makin?"

His question caught her off guard. Again. He was getting good at that, she thought. How long had he been standing there watching her eat her weight in frosting?

She composed herself, went back to whisking the bowl. "Frosting for something, not sure what yet."

He nodded, still standing a good three feet away from her, watching her work. She absent-mindedly reached into the bowl again with her other hand, snagged a finger full of frosting and brought it to her lips, paused and realized what she'd done. It was too late now to put it back and she did the only thing she could think of in that moment, the only logical, rational, sane thing she could do. Held her finger out to him and waited.

He had been mesmerized by her actions up until that point, following her hand with his eyes from the bowl to her mouth. But now, his gaze found hers and locked in place. She held her breath.

One heartbeat. Two.

Suddenly had the panicked realization that he could easily turn and leave or scoff at her like this was a bad joke. She had always known, when she allowed herself to ponder it, that if anything were to happen she would have to be the one to make the first move. She had done that now, but she'd also landed the ball very firmly in his court and that could be enough to spook him.

Just when that outcome felt entirely too possible and they'd been in a stand off for what felt like a lifetime he walked forward purposefully, confidently, never breaking eye contact and grabbed her wrist then lowered his mouth over her finger and licked the frosting right off.

Well then. Maybe she didn't need post-it notes after all. 


End file.
